The Writings of Soul Bendorff
There is beauty in this world. I know it. I’ve seen it. I’ve held it in my hand and spent days simply staring, drinking it in. I’ve made beauty through my music, music that sounded like an angel’s song and pleased the maker as much as any other angel’s song could. I was an angel. I made beauty. And then the adoration started. There was beauty in that, too. Beauty in their faces as they looked at me, worshipping me as they’d worship a real angel. Beauty in their awe, their respect, their need to be around me. I stopped feeling like an angel and felt like a god, instead. It came with a price. A bigger price than simply making

Only the Good: Nookie!
Trevor pointed out to me that since the Demo Tapes (both of them!) are available through Barnes & Noble, he’s quite available for a little bit of nookie. At less than five bucks for each Demo Tape book, you’re getting the steal of a lifetime. Yep, it’s true. Trevor Wolff. Appearing at a B&N near you. I hope I’m the only one who gets nightmares from that idea. **This offer only applies to the e-book versions, in case the price didn’t tip you off.

Thursday Thirteen: Oracle
1. My Sunday Scribblings this week was the story of Mitchell being allowed a chance to play the famed Oracle guitar. From the scant comments, most of you missed a doozy. 2. The Oracle used to belong to Soul Bendorff. 3. Read more about Soul here. 4. Like his dark blue suede vests, the Oracle was his trademark. 5. He set one on fire every night, at the end of every set. 6. He used that guitar to redefine music. 7. The magic Soul created was part of what made Mitchell pick up the guitar in the fir

Susan’s Book Talk: Best Women-Penned of ‘09
When challenged by the anonymous (but oh, so smart) editor Moonrat to come up with my list of 2009 Best Books by Women, I realized quickly I had a small problem. That problem is how few books published in 2009 that I’ve read. Period. Doesn’t matter the gender of the writer; I don’t read nearly as many current releases as I’d like to. That’s partly because I have books that have been on the TBR Mountain Range since (this is embarrassing) September of 2005. I’m trying to read those first. Many of them were published well before 2005, even. In

Mitchell Fiction: Oracle
Kerri paused, struck by the reverence with which Mitchell reached for the guitar. His hands were soft, cupped, his arms strong. As the Oracle was placed into his hands, they swayed slightly, as if allowing it a harsh meeting with his palms would be an insult. His manner was probably the same as that of a True Believer who was accepting communion, Kerri figured. She immediately began sketching as Adam’s shutter began snapping. To Mitchell, there probably wasn’t much difference between this guitar and holy communion. The Oracle had once belonged to Soul Bendorff. The Oracle wasn’t the guitar he’d set on fire at the end of every show. Hell, the Oracle h